


Chasing the setting sun

by Echodoki



Category: One Piece, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Language Barrier, M/M, warning: ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 13:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11209179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echodoki/pseuds/Echodoki
Summary: After Aragorn died, Legolas and Gimli built a ship, and sailed towards the undying land. And then there was a storm.The sea called out to Legolas.(In which the author desperately need a pirate!Legolas and think he would fit right in the Strawhat crew)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine. Purely self indulgent.

It was on the first day of spring, the flowers blossomed into a magnificent sea of flowing colour, the wind was soft and sweet, whispering of life and hope, the birds sang a joyous tune greeting the new shuffling leaves. King Elessar passed away in peace.

 

It was inevitable, human’s life is so much shorter than elves. He knew. He was prepared for this.

 

Legolas stood in front of the grand and majestic grave, his old friend’s triumphs carved into every inch of the stone. The birdsong and the sweet air floating in the painful silence of his old friend’s breath. There was and there wasn’t a life so brief but shone so bright.

 

Half of his soul was ruthlessly torn away, clinging onto the fading light of what once was his friend, and departed to the darkness that no one came back. His friend. His love. His Aragorn.

 

The overwhelming grief almost consumed him.

 

Legolas started building the ship around the coming of summer. Gimli his loyal companion, like the rock that he was, like the mountain he was born from, unyielding and constant at his side. It took them three weeks to build the vessel that would take him to the undying land.

 

The sea called for him.

 

He liked to listen to the waves, contemplating how the waves should wash away his pain, Gimli didn’t say anything when he voiced his thought. The stars lost the shine a long time ago. The night became longer and darker each day he stayed on this old dying land. Sometimes he wanted to walk into the waves, into the unending ocean tides that kept trying to cleanse the world of sorrow.

 

Gimli didn’t let him.

 

He invited Gimli to come with him. Gimli looked at him with that faint exasperation leaked from his worrying eye, his face disgruntled as always.

 

“Of course,” he said, “What kind of friend am I to let you drown on your first day sailing?”

 

“The best kind of course.”

 

They sailed towards the setting sun. It reminded him of his farewell with his friends long ago. They would be waiting for them at the end of this journey. He would seek comfort in the reunion. They would sing to the passed king, sing to their friends, lost to the battles and lost to the old age. And all would be well.

 

The sea was a liquid gold in the light of the setting sun, then a liquid fire.

 

Then, there was a storm.

 

Legolas woke up with a start. He ached in ways he didn’t know he could before, as if each bone shattered and each muscle torn, a thousand mountain trolls hitting his head with full force at the same time. He felt something cool and soft against his forehead, clearing away a little of the fog clouded around his consciousness.

 

The pain doubled its force and a nausea hit him so hard he was knocked over and fell back into the darkness. He felt he was perhaps retching, there was something, a hand perhaps, on his back. Then he felt no more.

 

The next time he regained his consciousness he was better - still aching all over, his lung burning with each breath, a stench taste at the back of his throat sparked some fragments of embarrassing and painful memories. At least he was lucid enough to understand how terrible he was feeling.

 

He chose not to open his eyes.

 

Soon he was welcomed back into a familiar darkness.

 

Legolas was woken up by some distant chattering and laughters this time. He was feeling much better now. Most of the pain subsided to a tolerable level. Someone must have rinsed his mouth because the sour taste was gone. 

 

Someone was coming.

 

He listened to the foot steps as it came closer to wherever he was. He still didn’t open his eyes, but from the touch under his fingers he guessed he was on a relatively narrow bed in a room of some sort. From the constant swaying he guessed he was perhaps on a ship.

 

So someone rescued him from the sea.

 

The door opened, the laughter and chatters grew louder for a brief moment before it was shut away again. Someone came closer. Someone was standing next to him.

 

Then he spoke.

 

Legolas opened his eyes and stared at the man still talking to him.

 

Ah, well. This was unexpected.

 

He did not understand a single word.

 

~~~

 

Benn Beckman glared at their guest, expecting a response.

 

Now before you call him paranoid, Beckman felt the need to remind you, that it was his job as the first mate to be paranoid. Especially when his captain was a goddamn idiot.

 

Because just who the hell is this guy? They found him clinging to a piece of wood that looked like a once beautifully carved door or window with delicately engraved floral patterns, for god sake it even had rare gems embellished on it, only the fucking Nobles do that. Or, some pompous  _ brats _ who would sacrifice practicality for useless decorations. But they would know if there was a goddamn Noble around. They have  _ informants _ for it.

 

And just where the hell did this guy came from? There was no storm around here. They were on their bi-yearly trip to the Blues for the crewmembers to reunite with their families or just to relax a bit. They knew this course, they knew where they would hit the rough patch and everyone would be needed to keep their ship from falling apart from the temperamental sea, and where they could just leave the ship be and go blackout drunk without worrying because  _ Hello Spring Islands _ they are the best (though their captain would beg to differ).

 

There would not be any trace of storm within at least one day of sailing distance, and that was a fucking long way for a human being to float on a piece of wood. By whatever blessing that was currently shining on their passenger he did not get eaten by the assortment of weird and weirder creatures in the sea, he was barely conscious when they fished him out of the water, he shouldn’t be physically capable of floating on the wooden piece.

 

And his ear. What the fuck. What was him? A fucking elf?

 

How was he even alive? How?

 

Perhaps it had something to do with his weird physiology, speaking of, their ship doctor totally freaked out when he examined their guest, and almost fainted after looking at a blood sample. Apparently he dared not giving him more medicines, except for a few bags of glucose and vitamin solutions, “just in case we don’t kill him further”.

 

Maybe he was an elf then. (It would be just their luck if they pick up a mythical creature.)

 

Damn their captain and his kind heart and love for picking up strays.

 

And why is he still not talking?

 

Beckman bit down on the cigarette and looked at their guest with a hint of impatience in his eyes. Was there unchecked head injury or what?

 

The man(?) slowly sat up, a look of blank confusion in the back of his eyes. 

 

Dear gods no, he was not dealing with this. Please don’t let this be another boring amnesia scheme. What was wrong with people thinking feigning amnesia was best strategy to gain their trust? He was so going to find every author in the world that sold their amnesia cliches like it was a good idea.

 

The man opened his mouth.

 

And closed it.

 

C’mon, say the line. The “where am I”, the “who are you” and the “I don’t remember”. So he could get this over with and go back to the party. His captain should really learn from that last time. 

 

The man opened his mouth again, and spoke.

 

Huh.

 

This was new.

 

He did not understand a single word.

 

~~~

 

/Hello? Thank you for saving me. But I think there may be a small problem./

 

Legolas winced. Small problem indeed.

 

Only that they were speaking two very different languages. There were some syllables that sounded like Westron, with less flow but more melodic. He could almost recognize some fragments of words that he spoke, stringed together with syllables falling like a quick summer rain against the window.

 

Man and their ever changing languages, equal part fascinating and frustrating.

 

The man spoke again. This time much slower. He looked at him with impatience and expectation.

 

/Ah, sorry. I really don’t understand what you were saying./

 

Legolas tried to project this by his expression and gesture. The man stared at him some more, sighed, and muttered to himself for something.

 

The man pointed his finger at him and spoke a word - ah, that would be “you” in their language - and pointed towards the bed with the utterance of another word.

 

He didn’t need to know their language to understand that he was asked to rest more, while the black haired man stormed out muttering under his breath.

 

Man and their short patience.

 

Legolas looked around, finally paying attention to the room that he was in. It was a small but clean cabin, perhaps three steps from the bed to the door. No windows and no candle holders. Light seemed to emit from some strange white plate hanging on the ceiling but there was no fire burning. The room was obviously designed for functioning instead of comfort, bare minimal furnishing with only the small bed that he was on, a small wooden desk next to the feet of the bed and a strange looking wooden chair beside it.

 

He wouldn’t make this as a guest room, there was no signs of medicine cabinet indicating as healing chamber, and it would be way to nice to be a room for a prisoner.

 

Legolas didn’t know what to think.

 

Exhaustion creeped up from the back of his eyelids.

 

So he sighed, and succumbed to the call of darkness again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: graphic description of anxiety attack  
> MAJOR ANGST
> 
> I did not expect it to go this way. Sorry. I was planning to write some cute language barrier struggle and minor angst. But. Oh well.

This had to be most ridiculous thing in the world. (No, of course it wasn’t, with how their captain was.) They just happened to pick up someone on the Grand Line as they left the New World, this someone just happened to look strange enough to catch their captain’s eyes (“Benn Benn Benn we are keeping him!” ”No we’re not.” “Yes we totally are!”), and this strange someone just happened to speak a different language so he couldn’t answer his questions. How very convenient.

 

Beckman knew he was probably being paranoid, he knew his captain would probably (most definitely) laugh at his paranoia. Well,  _ someone _ needed to be on this circus of a ship.

 

“Dahahahahaha you are worrying way too much!” his captain laughed after tossing back a full jug of wine, the idiot had no appreciation for the finer things in the world, “and even if he’s trouble it isn’t like we can’t deal with it. C’mon you need more fun in your life! Dahahahahaha!”

 

They always did have very different definitions for “fun”.

 

“Tell us more about it!”

 

“What is he like Benn?”

 

He had no idea how they managed to gain the bounty on their heads. He wondered what the world would think when they saw the infamous Red Hair Pirates being the ridiculous idiots that they were, there was absolutely no way they could fear them. His ridiculous nakama.

 

“You all saw it when your stupid captain jumped into the sea and dragged him on board, and I have to say I strongly advice against you ever doing that again, that is very irresponsible and dangerous, though I know you wouldn’t listen.”

 

Everyone laughed.

 

“He was...” he paused, suddenly unsure of what to say.

 

This strange someone, was definitely a sight to behold. Liquid moonlight was his hair, fair and unblemished skin, delicate facial structure with an ethereal beauty, and his pointy ears. Perfectly proportioned body lined with lean muscle and but too light for his size. It reminded him of the tales he once loved as a child, of the high elves in the legends.

 

“He was a weirdo, and still very confused. It was a boring meeting, we didn’t understand each other, there’s nothing to tell. Now scram you children.”

 

“Hey no need to insult!”

 

“There’s gotta be something interesting!”

 

“Did you asked him about the ears?”

 

“Tell us more,  _ Mother _ !”

 

“Leave Benn alone you guys I’m not gonna endure another month of absolute mind numbing peace that one time you pissed him off was more than enough!”

 

“Hahahahahaha cowards!”

 

Benn shaked his head. His idiots.

 

There’s no way he’s letting harm come to them.

 

~~~

 

Legolas woke up again, this time with a tray of food on the desk. It looked like porridge of some sort, and there’s a side steamed vegetable and some cold cut meat.

 

It was very quiet outside, unlike the last time he was awake.

 

It must be nighttime now.

 

He tried to sit up slowly, then carefully stood up leaning on the desk. He was still a little dizzy but the pain was mostly gone now. He believed the dizziness was more from the lack of food in his stomach than anything else.

 

The food tasted plain, unsurprising, consider he had been sick, still on the sea with most likely limited food and spices in store, that, and they were cooked by man. Sure, man had their uniquely grand and complicated feast and food were crafted thoughtfully at the hands of the master chefs, they were meticulous art form on a plate, but that was only for the kings and the nobles. For the common folks, their food lacked the cheery passion of the hobbits and the delicate touch of the elves. Remember that one time…

 

Legolas closed his eyes. A lump in his throat resisting his attempt to swallow the porridge in his mouth. He could almost see the fireworks, he could almost hear the cheers and laughters and songs, he could almost feel the hand on his shoulder and the smile against his lips.

 

He suddenly lost all appetite, not there was any to begin with.

 

He could feel the sway of the floor beneath him, he could hear the waves if he concentrate. A siren’s song the sea sang to him, calling him, calming him, chiding him.

 

Gimli was not here. 

 

He knew.

 

Neither of them saw the storm coming, one moment they were sleeping in the cabin, the next they were knock down on the ground, the ship tilted dangerously. He barely had time to shout Gimli’s name once before the next wave came and tore the ship immediately apart. He was struck by the fragment of the cabin door more than holding onto it, the force would leave a painful bruise on his shoulder but he ached all over so there was no telling which bruise was from where.

 

He tried reach for Gimli as he finally stabled his hold on the wood, but another wave came and he was buried under the raging sea. He imagined he heard Gimli’s call. He tried to respond. The water salty and bitter in his mouth, burning in his nose and his lungs. Another wave came, he tried to reach out, but was slammed down again. Then another wave. Then the darkness.

 

The sea called to him.

 

The sea lured him into the open calmness.

 

The sea destroyed his last anchor to his past.

 

Yet he still heard the song the waves sang, constantly against his skull, encouragingly in his ears, calling to him. He blindingly ran towards the Siren call, and dragged his last friend to…

 

No, he wouldn’t think more of it.

 

Gimli was not here.

 

He would think no more of it.

 

“Y’kno, my da would jump outta the grave if he knew I befriended an elf, let alone d’ciding to leave the mountain and sail the sea with this elf, he would.”

 

It was the last night before their planned sail, they decided to indulge in some Dwarven mead one last time before leaving. He was maybe a little more drunk than he should, and Gimli was absolutely hammered. They giggled, shouted nonsense at the stars, overall graceless and very embarrassing.

 

“And father would be outraged. I can’t wait to see his face. Imagine this, hello my kins this is Gimli my respectable friend, son of the dwarf you captured and imprisoned all those years ago, he’s staying with us forever.”

 

“Oh you wicked brat I swear on my axe you are worse than Pippins, you just hide it much better.”

 

“I am offended dwarf, you offend me.”

 

“I should know from the way those kids adored you, you are the master behind their pranks, of course you are, Aragorn never figured out that one time the Princeling from Rohan came visit, and everything in his guest room was changed into those eyesore yellow was you did he?”

 

“...”

 

“Legolas?” 

 

“No, I guess not.”

 

Yes, of course he knew.

 

Aragorn was the one suggested it, claiming the Princeling needed a little fun in his life, as if saying that with a serene and noble straight face would change the fact that he was the culprit behind that epic prank.

 

“You know he hated yellow because that one time...”

 

“Shhh, of course I know, why else would I suggest it?”

 

“You prankster. You are supposed to be the sensible one. People admire you.”

 

“I am loveable. You would know.”

 

“Arwen would kill us.”

 

“No, she won’t.”

 

“Ah, that kid angered his mother again didn’t he? That would explain it. What did he do this time?”

 

“Why would I know? It is not polite to spy on a friendly kingdom.”

 

He could almost feel it, the quiet laughter, the soft hair, the angles of a face so familiar under his palm, and the heavy coldness of the crown under his fingers.

 

His smile. He could almost hear his quiet giggle and soft sighs.

 

“Go to the sea, Legolas, leave me.”

 

His hair white as the snow, soft like the silk, his face marred with the kisses of time. Old age and sickness fogged his eyes, making them brighter and dimmer at the same time.

 

“Go to the sea, build your ship, follow the sun and the moon, sail, be free.”

 

Legolas stood up from the chair.

 

He felt the walls closing in on him, the soft swaying of the vessel became violent, the lighting too bright and too dark.

 

He pushed open the door, it was dark outside. He aimlessly ran, instinctively towards the freshness of the sea breeze. He heard someone yelled behind him, but he didn’t know what he was yelling. He did not care.

 

It was nighttime, a full silver moon hanging high in the midnight blue, stars shining brighter than he remembered, but the patterns were all wrong.

 

He did not remember when he started crying. He did not know when he fell on the ground, or perhaps he was tackled down, someone was holding his arms behind him. The air felt too thin and too thick. There was more yelling. Someone picked him up by the back of his collar and was shaking him. 

 

He looked towards the night sky, at the unfamiliar alignment of the stars.

 

He could not read the message. 

 

Someone yelled, and everyone quieted down. The quietness was nice, it reminded him of his wandering in the Mirkwood after Aragorn’s passing. Then he heard the waves, and he thought of the storm that consumed everything.

 

He thought he perhaps screamed.

 

~~~

 

Shanks was woken up by the chaos outside. Did the marines sneak attacked or what? 

 

But there was no sounds of fighting, someone yelled “got him” but everything was too loud and he should not be awake after that many wine he drank last night, this night, it was still dark, he assumed he did not sleep through the day (who knows?).

 

There was a crowd on the deck, his crews in their finest outfit no less. Was Yasopp really wearing that little duckling underwear? He would make sure to remind everyone to tease him about this after he got more awake. Damn, the headache.

 

“What do you think you are doing? Running around like this!”

 

Ahh, Benn’s trademark mother-henning. Who was it earned his scolding tonight? 

 

“I told you he was up to no good!”

 

“No you didn’t! I, warned you!”

 

“Was he trying to escape? Was he a spy?”

 

“No, I don’t think. He is crying. Why is he crying?”

 

“He was facing the wrath of Benn, I would be crying.”

 

What? Oh, the pointy eared blondie.

 

The thing was, Shanks  _ knew _ something was going on with their pretty passenger. He was  _ not  _ stupid, contrary to Benn’s belief. Not that stupid, at least. There was something strange about their passenger, there was this air about him. It felt like mystery. And Shanks love mysteries.

 

The sea called for him. Literally.

 

He could swear he heard someone or something calling to him, with an urgency that made his heart rate spike in half a second. He jumped before he saw there was someone in the water. Maybe that would be unwise. Maybe Benn was right he should be more careful. But he trusted his nakama to have his back. And hey look he saved a life, and a mystery. Win-win.

 

He thought about the possibility of their passenger being a spy of the Marine, or worse, the World Government. But with the xenophobic atmosphere at the Marineford, and with the fucking Nobles, it was a  _ little  _ unlikely for them to assign such an important task to this… Obviously non-human and non-user guy. That, or their strategic department just needed a bit coffee. Because this is honestly embarrassing stupid.

 

Putting all the chances counting on some pirates to act out of the kindness of their heart? Half of the marines would have a coronary having their  _ pride _ wounded so much.

 

It was entirely probably this is one of Dragon’s guy, though. Maybe with a bit of amnesia, from how things sounded. They were the clever bunch. They wouldn’t pull something so ridiculous just to plant someone on his ship.

 

Benn wouldn’t listen to his reasons though. Thinking  _ he  _ was the smart one.

 

Well, he was. But. The point still stood.

 

It had been a few days. Their doctor told him he was slowly recovering. He expected him to be wary upon waking up. He definitely did not expect him to speak another language. He was seriously excited now. Just think about what sort of adventures would be associated with a  _ fucking different language _ ! There  _ was _ a reason Ohara was destroyed.

 

Well, he also did not expect him to escape, that was for sure.

 

“What, in the four seas’ name do you think you are doing? Leave my patient alone!”

 

Oh no. They woke the doc, and they were crowding his patient. 

 

Gotta intervene before doc murdered everyone. Shanks pushed through the crowd.

 

Then, he heard it.

 

The scream.

 

An onslaught of pain/desperation/grief/regret hit them face on like a tsunami. It reverberated from the core of his soul, his entire body shaking from the tension, the ship seemed to shake with it, the calm surface of the sea suddenly disrupted, the reflection of the moon broken into shards of cold light.

 

What the fuck was  _ that _ ?

 

Was it Devil Fruit? No, he was found floating in the sea for who knew how long, if he was a User, surely he would be dead by now. But what else could it be? It kinda sorta felt like haki, but he never heard about that variation of haki. The only non-theory he could think of was the inverse of the Observation Haki, where instead of sensing the aura of the others, the emotions were  _ forced _ into their perception.

 

The scream was suddenly cut off as their passenger fell forwards and went limp, head dangling by his hair grasped in Benn’s left hand, his right hand extended from this blow to the passenger’s neck. The shock wave still shaking the air on the deck, everyone was staring at the epicenter of the storm. It was completely, unnaturally silent for about half a minute, before someone finally took a loud breath and broke the spell.

 

“Did you just hit one of my patient in front of me?”

 

That was the enraged growl from their doc.

 

No one can save his first mate now.

 

Shanks focused his attention on the pale and weak figure. It was even more obvious now under the moon, how inhuman this creature is, the way his skin and hair shining a soft light, like a halo enveloping him.

 

Gods.

 

Shanks sighed. 

 

What did he get himself into again?


End file.
